


Euskadi Six-Hour

by Sab



Category: Sports Night
Genre: 3000-7500 words, Episode Related, First Time, M/M, didn't really happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-04-08
Updated: 2001-04-08
Packaged: 2017-10-02 08:44:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sab/pseuds/Sab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Casey never slept with anyone in France!" - Jeremy</p>
            </blockquote>





	Euskadi Six-Hour

**Author's Note:**

> These guys aren't mine. San Sebastian's in Spain. The Six Hours of Euskadi cycling tournament is in Spain. I've never been to Spain. But I kinda like the music. Thanks as always to my punkiest of Punks.
> 
> Spoilers for "Eli's Coming," and Bobbi Bernstein, as played by the one and only Lisa Edelstein.

February 1993

Casey had been to Spain twice. Once in high school, once in college. The high school Spanish club had taken him to Madrid, and they'd looked at a lot of churches and watched a lot of soccer and ate a lot of paella. Lisa's family had taken him to Sevilla three years later, and they'd looked at a lot of churches and shopped for a lot of jewelry and ate a lot of paella.

Now he's in San Sebastian, Spain number three. All by his lonesome because the photographer bailed, leaving Casey with a notebook and a pen and a Powerbook to cover the Six Hours of Euskadi bike race. And he's watching a bunch of college-age kids come stumbling into the hotel lobby because he's pretty sure he recognizes at least one of them.

"Senor McCall?"

He turns around, and the concierge with the bee-stung lips is blinking at him and holding out his credit card. "Si, si, um, gracias," Casey says.

"Bueno, Senor," she says, and dips her head a little. He signs the thing under a couple of rules and restrictions he can't really be bothered to translate, thanks the pouty woman again and steals her pen. Su pluma, he tells himself.

The four college kids are wasted off their asses, and one of the girls stops halfway through the lobby and sits down on the floor, laughing. "We have to -- Dan, Dan's in, Dan's --" she's sputtering and cackling, and Casey turns around again to let the woman with the lips give him his room key.

"Setecientos quince," she says, and Casey nods. Room 715. He looks around for the elevator.

"Dan's asleep, Dan is --" the girl on the floor is still gasping, and Casey can't for the life of him figure out where he knows these kids from. "Dan's asleep in the car," she says, finally.

Except Dan's not in the car, now, Dan's coming in the door of the hotel, tripping over his feet, looking for his friends. Dan Rydell, the new kid at the paper where Casey works, and Casey realizes this is how he knows these college kids. They're Dan's friends. They've come by to pick Dan up after work sometimes. Casey's met them a couple of times in bars, too, and he thinks the one on the floor might be Dan's girlfriend. The big guy with the souvenir beret is certainly called Doug, Casey thinks, or maybe David, or maybe Dan?

No, this is Dan, Dan Rydell, the one collapsing on the floor next to the laughing girl. Casey wonders if he should go say hello. He wonders if now's a good time, here in Spain, to tell Dan about the fantasies he's been having ever since Dan came to work at the paper.

Dan's gorgeous as ever, a little rumply, and his eyes might be bloodshot but Casey can't really tell from halfway across the room. It wouldn't matter. Casey feels a knot in his stomach. He looks for the elevators a little.

"Melanie, chill out, okay?" Dan says. "Melanie. Mel. Come on."

And then she's laughing again and then he's laughing too, and Casey stops at the edge of the hotel desk to watch some more.

"Someone's gotta fucking feed me!" Melanie shouts, and Dan's laughing and trying to shut her up. And the big guy reaches down a big arm to pull Melanie to her feet, and the other girl, in a purple skirt, is bouncing from foot to foot and scowling.

Dan scrabbles to his feet too and puts his hands on Melanie's shoulders. "I gotta pee," he says.

"I want DAMON to feed me," Melanie says, and Casey remembers that that's the big guy's name. Dan looks a little crestfallen.

"What time zone are we in?" the other girl asks, and no one seems to know the answer.

Casey finds the elevators and punches the up button, and the damned thing takes forever. And then it comes, but someone's calling his name and he just stands there and the doors shut again.

"Casey? Um, McCall?"

Casey turns around, and there's Dan, jumping up and down. "Casey Casey Casey what the hell are you doing in France?"

Casey stammers a little, and they're not in France. "Hey, Dan. I'm -- " And then it all seems very complicated to explain, so he just shrugs. "The Euskadi Six Hour, remember?"

Dan's zoned out, and Casey waves a hand in front of his face. "Oh!" Dan says. "Yeah, um, I am so completely BLITZED, Casey."

"I can see that," Casey says with a smile.

"We're eating, Rydell," Big Damon hollers. "Someone's gotta get some food in Mel's stomach."

"We'll see how long she keeps it down," the girl in the skirt giggles.

"Check us in?" Big Damon asks, but they don't wait for Dan to answer before they stumble out in a big laughing mess of arms piling around shoulders and fingers grabbing onto shirts.

"Where'd my friends go?" Dan asks Casey after a long moment, his voice small and heartbreaking except that Casey wants to laugh.

"I think they went to get something to eat," Casey says.

"She's so totally fucking him," Dan says, leaning against the wall. "It's okay."

Casey raises his eyebrows. "Okay," he says. "That's your girlfriend, then?"

Dan rubs one eye with the back of his hand. "Dude, I really have to pee," he says.

"You want help checking in?"

"Oh, shit." Dan slaps himself on the ass. "My wallet's in the car." He slaps himself on the ass a couple more times, just to make sure, and Casey tries not to really watch. "They -- did they take the car?"

Casey shakes his head. "I have absolutely no idea."

"I gotta PEE, man," Dan jumps up and down again.

"You can use my bathroom," Casey says, and he presses the elevator button again.

Dan doesn't shut the door, and Casey sits on the bed, thumbing through the Spanish guide to the Spanish TV and trying not to listen to the sound of pissing coming from the bathroom.

Then the water runs and shuts off and Dan comes out, drying his hands on his jeans. He sits down on the end of the bed beside Casey. He smells like scotch and cigarettes and French fries, like a road trip. Casey's overwhelmed with the urge to rub Dan's back, to pick up his hand and lay it on Dan's back and rub in circles. He doesn't.

"You feeling better?" he asks.

Dan laughs. "Oh, man, I am so wasted," he says. "What time is it?"

Casey looks at his watch. "Ten past eight," he says.

"Ten past eight. France time?"

"Well," Casey nods slowly. "Since France and Spain are in the same time zone, I'm gonna go with, yeah, France time."

"I think I'm still on Boston time," Dan says.

Casey's plane had landed about five hours ago, but he'd slept during the flight and now wasn't on any time to speak of. "It's eleven am Boston time," he tells Dan.

"Lunchtime!" Dan says, pounding a fist on the mattress and shaking the bed. He collapses backwards and stares at the ceiling. "Lunchtime?"

"You need to sleep," Casey says. "You want to sleep some of that off here until your friends get back?"

"You never told me what you're doing in France," Dan says to the ceiling.

Casey gets up to make himself a drink from the minibar. If this kid's gonna be a lunatic, Casey figures he might as well match wits. "That's true," he says, smirking. "I never told you what I was doing in France."

"'Sokay, man," Dan says. "It's cool. Cool as cucumbers. Cool as Euro-cumbers. Cool cool cool."

"Glad to hear it," Casey says, unscrewing the tiny top to some tiny vodka. "What are you doing in France?"

"I have no idea," Dan says.

"Lovely country, France," Casey says, downing the first tiny vodka over some ice.

"I don't speak French," Dan says.

Casey looks at the Spanish TV guide. "You'll probably do all right," he says.

"Casey!" Dan slaps the bed next to where he's lying. "Come hither, my friend. Lie down next to me and we shall speak of things French."

Casey knocks back another tiny vodka, and he's already feeling the buzz when he goes and sits down on the bed again. "How are you doing, Dan?"

"Brilliant!" Dan's still looking at the ceiling. "Now, Casey. I don't know you very well. But you seem to me to be a man of designs, a man with lofty goals. A man with a plan. Tell me your plan, Casey?"

The second tiny vodka's catching up to the first, and Casey pulls his long legs up onto the bed and lies down next to Dan. The ceiling's not that interesting. He can hear Dan breathing through his nose. "My plan," he says. "Pues, anoche, mi plan es eliminarle descubierto y aprovecharse de usted en su estado debilitado." He waves his arms around over his head, hoping to god Dan doesn't speak Spanish, that Dan won't understand about the stripping naked and the taking advantage. Which aren't things Casey would really do, of course. But it feels damned good to say them, even in Spanish.

"Oui, oui, monsieur," Dan says, and Casey chuckles.

"Tres bon," Casey says. "Indeed."

The day Dan came to work at the paper, Casey was in the middle of the Olympics recap, and Dan had come in with his baseball cap and long fingers, hollering about the Dream Team and the sullying of American amateur sport. Billy, the editor-in-chief, had looked a little scared. But it was okay, Casey said, because Dan was here for the sports section and that was Casey's business and Casey would take care of him.

He was a little embarrassed by the fact that Dan's body had turned him on first, even before Dan's brain. Of course, later, when it proved that Dan was brilliant, too, brilliant and funny and quick, it didn't help matters for Casey, who had already lost control of his dreams and his pants.

In six months they'd established a marvelous chatty rapport, they'd gone for beers a handful of times, they'd watched some games together, late, in the office. Their personal conversations hadn't ventured too deep -- Dan knew Casey was married and had a kid, Casey knew Dan hated soccer -- but it was enough for Casey to know that there was something abiding there. Less because of what Dan said and more how he said it, disassociative thoughts strung together, absurd mental leaps that sometimes Casey thought only he and Dan understood. They spoke in shorthand, after a couple months. They laughed a lot.

But still, it was formal, co-workers, buddies, pals. And Casey would go home to Lisa and would make love to her, but he didn't have control of his dreams anymore. And they were becoming, more and more, about Dan. He'd jerk off in the shower before he went to work, and then Dan would come in to the office and Casey would excuse himself to the men's room where he'd jerk off again.

And now they are alone together in a hotel in Spain. Or possibly France.

"Yeah, that's it," Casey says, hoisting himself back up onto his feet. "I need another drink."

While he's putting away his third tiny vodka, he watches Dan stretch his arms up, arch his back, scratch his stomach. Dan's t-shirt has fallen up and there's a hard patch of stomach exposed, tanned a deep brown from however long Dan's spent in wherever it is in Europe Dan's been. Actual abdominal muscles, defined and ridged, and Casey can practically imagine what they'd feel like under his fingers. His hands twitch. He puts the plastic hotel glass down and sits on the foot of the bed again next to Dan's knees.

"You went away," Dan says. "Casey?"

"I'm still here," Casey says, and then allows himself to wax lyrical a little, "Estare siempre aqui para usted." I will always be here for you. It's the vodka talking, and in Spanish, no less.

Dan sits up, and then reels a little bit and steadies himself on the corner of the mattress. "Whoa, okay, so that was a bad idea," he says. His knee presses against Casey's. Casey doesn't move. Dan lays a hand on Casey's thigh. "Are we having fun yet?" he asks. Casey tries to focus.

"Personally, I'm having a ball," Casey says. "I've always loved France."

"France," Dan muses, his hand still on Casey's thigh. "The country of love."

"So I hear," Casey says.

Dan pulls himself up, bracing his weight on Casey's left shoulder. He stands and faces Casey, straddling one of Casey's knees. Casey trembles.

"I've always liked you, McCall," Dan says, putting his other hand on Casey's other shoulder. "You're a fine specimen."

"You're not bad yourself, Rydell," Casey says, feeling sort of claustrophobic and silly and excited.

"You're a fine-looking man," Dan says. "A fine specimen of a fine-looking man."

"I am," Casey nods.

"We both are," Dan says. "I don't really like your wife, incidentally."

Casey doesn't want to think about Lisa now. He doesn't want to think about Lisa, or the fact that in another life he's straight and married and lives in Boston on Boston time. He's on France time, now, with Dan. Incredible, heart-stopping Dan. "Yeah," he says. "Well, I can't say I'm too fond of your girlfriend."

"This looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship," Dan says. "You wanna fool around?"

Casey laughs, because it's a joke, it has to be, and Dan laughs, and Dan crumples to the floor, laughing. He rests his forehead on Casey's knee.

"Dan?" Casey says.

"Yeah, um, never mind," Dan says to Casey's knee. "I loooooove Europe, baby. I'm drunk and crazy. Crazy crazy."

Casey, who's feeling drunk and crazy himself, reaches out a hand and scritches Dan's head. "It's okay, man," he says.

Dan turns his head so his cheek's up against the side of Casey's knee. His legs are bent and to the side like he's resting on a chaise or something, and he's braced his weight on one splayed hand on the carpet. "What the fuck," he says. "What the fuck?" He starts chewing on Casey's jeans, the inside of Casey's thigh. "What the fuck what the fuck, huh, Case?"

It sounds so intimate, so endearing, his name shortened like that, though he figures Dan just got tired before the second syllable was over. But Dan's chewing on the inside of his knee, little teeth moving up the seam of his jeans, and Casey struggles not to squirm and jump. His erection's swelling against his fly and it's driving him crazy and it hurts, and Dan's little teeth tickle.

"Dan? Um, Danny?" He tries a nickname too, and Dan doesn't seem to notice or mind.

Dan looks up at him, eyebrows raised, teeth still clinging to Casey's jeans. "Mm hm?"

"Danny!" Casey throws his head back and laughs and decides just to let this happen to him. "What the fuck, indeed."

And then Dan's forehead is in his crotch, and Dan's clawing for Casey's waistband, pushing him back further on the bed. And then Danny's working at Casey's fly, unbuttoning his jeans, slipping the tips of his fingers inside Casey's boxers. And Casey is lying down, and Danny's straddling him, his nose burrowing into Casey's bellybutton.

Casey's wet and twitchy already, as Dan peels back his jeans and rubs his nose in small circles on Casey's stomach. He wants the boxers off, hell, he wants the lights off, he wants Dan's hand around him or his mouth around him but Dan's a slow drunken tease and Casey's not getting any of it.

"Danny!"

"Shh, Casey," Dan says, catching the elastic of Casey's boxers in his teeth. "I'm drunk, I'm so drunk, I want you, shhh."

Casey thinks he's gonna die.

Dan's lips brush across the tip of Casey's cock as he pulls down the boxers and lets the elastic snap against Casey's balls. It doesn't hurt, but it's too much, too much clothing. Casey reaches down and claws his fingers into Danny's hair, remembering just how many fantasies went just like this, alone in Boston in the shower.

Except the tip of Dan's tongue is unlike anything else in the world. Casey closes his eyes.

"Move up," Dan says, pulling away and Casey's balls ache, wanting more, right now, more. He moves up, and Dan crawls forward a little bit on his knees. "Move up more." Casey does. Dan creeps a little closer, his knees on either side of Casey's waist. He leans down, plants a fast wet kiss on Casey's cheek.

"Ah, Case," Dan says, and this time Casey knows it's a nickname, a term of endearment. Lisa never calls him that. "Oh, Casey, this is good, right? This is a good thing."

"This is a good thing, Danny," Casey croaks. "Yes. Si, claro que si." He reaches up and takes Dan's head, pulls his face in closer and kisses him like a real person, like he's wanted to for so many months.

It's Danny, that little brat with the baseball cap, lips against Casey's, sucking on his tongue. They both taste hot and boozy, and Casey's starting to sweat.

"It's not just because I'm drunk, right?" Dan asks, and Casey wants him to shut up, now. "I want -- I wanted this before I was drunk."

It was more than Casey had expected to hear, more than he needs to hear but it's the best possible thing. "Me too, Dan," he says. He fights the urge to reach down and start pumping at his own throbbing cock, because Dan's still taunting, arching away, running a delicate stripe up the underside of Casey's dick with one thumb. Pulling away again. Not enough. Not enough at all.

Casey yelps. "Danny, please, if you're gonna --" and then he stops, because Dan's moving down his body again, sliding his hands up under Casey's shirt, catching Casey's nipples between his fingers. Casey's jeans are still caught around his knees and he feels like a virgin out behind the gym, learning how this works. He flails around for something to grab and finds Dan's bicep. He digs his nails in.

"Yeah, there we go," Dan says and Casey doesn't know where they're going --probably France -- but he doesn't care, he likes the trip.

Casey presses a knee up between Danny's thighs, and Dan leans in, at last at last at last, and wraps his lips around the tip of Casey's erection. Casey claws at Dan's bicep, arches his back, thinks about baseball, tries not to come before the good part. He kicks his jeans off and drives his knee up into Danny's crotch, and Danny settles his weight against the top of Casey's thigh.

Casey says "Danny" again, the "Dan" part rolling from a throaty place and the "ee" like a yelp, and Danny curls the tip of his tongue along the bottom of Casey's penis. Casey giggles despite himself. "You're a monster," he says.

Dan smiles, using his teeth a little. Casey groans. "I'm a monster," Dan tries to say.

Dan reaches down with one hand to undo the fly of his own jeans. He shoves his fingers into his boxers and curls his hand around himself, pulling against his own erection in time to his head moving against Casey's groin. The very act nearly sends Casey reeling, and he gasps, aloud, a couple short gasps, sucking in air and trying very hard not to hyperventilate or die here, in this hotel in whateverthefuck country, in Danny's arms, in Danny's mouth.

Dan leans in, and Casey feels teeth and tongue and spit, Danny riding him up and down, his mouth gliding on foreskin. Casey writhes, trying to get in and closer but afraid to choke Dan.

Dan seems to have very skilled vocal chords. He warbles around Casey's cock.

Casey shudders, feeling blood surge from everywhere, he's so close, and Danny's pumping a little faster on him, bringing him right to the brink and backing off just enough to drive Casey insane with desire.

And then Dan gives it to him, his hand wrapped around Casey's balls, squeezing just a little, a couple fingers searching out the channel to Casey's ass.

Casey bucks and coughs and claws at Danny. His toes point, his knees lock, his muscles ache and tighten. And then release, and he lets go. And he shivers and shudders and releases and lets go. Danny slides off him and swallows, and Casey collapses into the mattress with a sigh and a laugh.

Danny's not done, but he smiles at Casey and wipes at his amazing mouth with his amazing hand, squatting over Casey's knees and tugging at his own dick with three fingers wrapped around and his pinky tucked underneath. Casey watches, sticky and happy and drunk as Danny balances on his knees and tips his head back and whacks off at the ceiling.

"Let me help you, there," Casey says when he's able to speak again. He scoots back on the bed, sits up, reaches out and wraps his hand around Dan's sweaty one, around Dan's erection. He slides his other hand up under Dan's t-shirt, playing a little with the side of Dan's ribs, tracing his amazing chest, his stomach, his waist, his ass. He feels his cock twitch and shudder again at the feel of Dan's skin under his hand.

"Kiss me," Dan says, and he leans forward, and Casey kisses him, their hands moving together between sticky chests. And then Dan shakes him free and kisses him again and Dan's done too.

Casey falls back on the mattress, rolls over, buries his face in a pillow. He doesn't mean to be laughing but it's just all so funny, so perfect and funny. Dan crawls off and goes to wipe his hands, and when he comes back he slides in behind Casey, wrapping an arm across Casey's chest and burrowing his nose into the back of Casey's neck.

"So that happened," Dan says, and Casey can't stop laughing.

"So it did," Casey says.

They lie there for a while, and then Casey props himself up on an elbow and then sits up for real. And then he stands up and walks to the foot of his bed so he can pull his boxers back on. His ass is numb and his thighs ache for the muscles being clenched for so long. He totters to the bathroom, smelling Dan on his hands.

"I need another drink," Dan calls while Casey's splashing water on his face. "I want to stay this drunk, like, forever."

"Use the minibar," Casey says. "Expense account, baby."

"Fancy," Dan says. And then "Hooo, boy! That's good stuff."

Casey dries his hands on a towel and stops to scrutinize himself in the mirror. His face is wet, his hair sticking up in a forest of sweaty shocks.

So that happened. So it did. Que sucedio. Danny Rydell, giving him the best goddamned orgasm he'd had since he got married.

"Yeah, I'm still drunk," Danny calls from the other room.

"Me too," Casey says.

"Yeah." Danny says. "Still really drunk. Definitely drunk. Oh, I should not be standing up."

Casey buttons his shirt again and adjusts his boxers and curls his toes on the bathmat. This is turning out to be some vacation after all. He wants another drink.

"Hey," Danny says. "I need to --"

Casey runs the water until it's warm, wets a washcloth and wipes down his stomach and between his legs. He trembles residually, and steadies himself with one hand against the sink.

"I need to --" Danny trails off again.

"Huh?" Casey wrings out the washcloth and drapes it over the shower rod. And he throws himself one last look in the mirror before pushing through the half-open door back into the bedroom.

Dan's gone.

Casey sits down on the edge of the bed and turns on Spanish TV for no good reason. Dan's gone, but that seems to make sense, Dan's clearly stumbled drunkenly somewhere to find his friends and go on with his life, and tomorrow Casey's got to interview two bikers racing in the Euskadi Six Hour. And then he's got to write about the Euskadi Six Hour. And then he's got to go home.

Someone on Spanish TV is learning how to cook. And Dan has wandered off, but that's okay, because he could just as easily wander back. This whole weird thing happened like a fever dream, but Dan wanted him, and said so, and when they're back at work, even if it never happens again, Casey will know. That they'll always have San Sebastian, or Paris, if Dan has his way about it. So that happened. Sexy drunken Dan, here in Casey's bed. Wanting him. Casey gets up to pour himself one last drink.

Later, he would learn that Dan had gone off to meet and fuck a woman named Roberta Bernstein, who would grow up into Bobbi Bernstein and pinch-hit on Sports Night. He'd learn that Dan couldn't remember any of it, except vaguely that he'd had a drunken night in France.

And that was fine with Casey, all of it, the fact that Dan didn't remember that drunken tumble long ago. And the fact that Casey'd left it behind too, even though he'd had one hell of a time. It was all in the past, and it was all okay.

Because Casey had never been to France.


End file.
